Dying Men Have Tighter Grips
by escapistsovereign
Summary: It was to be expected, really. Serial murderers got their comeuppance (if they were caught) and it could be death as well as a lifetime in some shitty jail.


**_March 23rd, 2012. T minus 336 days and counting._**

* * *

_Tic, drip, toc, drip. _The leaking, blanched ceiling and the ancient clock on the wall battled for auditory dominance in a room that was otherwise eerily silent. Tohru Adachi sat up slowly (another minute on the feculent, stiff mattress and his back would be shot to hell anyway), disappointed that the numerous hours of feverish, sweat-laced sleep had done very little to alleviate the persistent stomach pains he'd suffered of late. Mentally, he flipped through the plethora of possible causes for a symptom this broad;

_Dysentery, flu, salmonella, malnourishment… _All complete and utter bullshit, he was aware. Two days ago, the Seta boy had booked it out of Inaba—hell, he'd have done the same—and tomorrow, the district court took on his case. It would be uninteresting, an unnecessarily long-winded formality, and whatever came out of it…

The gut pains had been of the same branch as the ones Tohru had felt when he'd checked in at his (then) new station for the first time and been greeted (where "mornin', newbie" constituted a greeting) by a stone-faced, swarthy taller man. The same momentary pang as when he'd gone to Junes to wind down after pushing the Konishi bitch into the TV and heard a scream of "Tohru-chan!" (though it only turned out to be that hag who always invited him over for some shitty dinner).

Stress.

When were visiting hours? Between three and four in the afternoon…? Four and five… Damn if he knew. The clock read 4:47, but it was an analogue and Tohru had slept fitfully: it could be an ungodly hour of morning, or that annoying time of day where one couldn't have ramen and still consider it lunch, but it was still too early for a (similarly ramen-comprised) dinner. It didn't matter, a thirteen-minute wait and he would either hear the tinny PSA announcement or go back to sleep.

Indeed, after a small quarter of an hour, there was a single sharp knock at the door, and it creaked open to reveal a stoic security guard motioning for Tohru to follow him. Their destination was the dismally lit visiting hall, where only his (ex-) partner Dojima and an unfamiliar man waited.

"You slept through the visiting hour, you dope." a flat insult in a frank, business-like tone. Devoid of passion. Very uncharacteristic.

-"It would have been _remarkably _easy to wake me, I'm not liable for any of that." he mirrored Dojima's business-as-usual voice. Tohru prided himself on the skill with which he could put up a façade.

The other bit his lip (he looked like he was dying for a smoke), seemingly withholding something, but Tohru didn't particularly care, so he didn't ask.

After a heavy moment of silence, Dojima cleared his throat and motioned to the suit-clad man to his left. "This is Yasuhiro Tatsuya. Regardless of whether you decide to appear in court yourself, the, uh… _defendant _needs a representative." Somehow, the older detective was sounding paternal and distant at the same time. His tone of voice reminded Tohru of the way Dojima talked with Nanako on the nights when he was able to attend dinner.

Tatsuya, a rat-faced, skittish little man, gave a curt nod. "As- as Dojima-san has said, I will be defending you in co- in court."

_From what? A merciful end? When the alternative is a life in jail? God fucking __**forbid**__._

Tohru forced a smile. This was a skill that had faltered quickly with the time he'd spent in the isolation cell. He probably looked more like he had a toothache.

"It's nice to meet you, Tatsuya-san." he held up a hand for the customary handshake.

...through bulletproof glass? _Fucking moron. _He lowered his hand quickly, wiping some lint off of his leg to disguise the motion.

Dojima said a short, painfully artificial goodbye, and the rest of the time between five and six PM, Tohru spent answering Tatsuya's many bland questions. When their time was up, the rat man bowed, thanking the would-be detective for his cooperation, expressing his confidence that the trial would have a fair outcome—

_Or some stupid shit like that._


End file.
